


Dress You Up in My Love

by spookywoods



Series: Truthfully [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fashion & Couture, Not Epilogue Compliant, Sexual Content, odd jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookywoods/pseuds/spookywoods
Summary: The journey home is taxing now that you have a greater purpose. Between the sun and sand and flurry of foreign elements, your head is in a haze and your heart is yearning for home. Your heart is yearning forher.Sequel toFinding Finally.
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson
Series: Truthfully [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264616
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Dress You Up in My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel that literally no one asked for. 
> 
> Thank you so much to [Etalice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etalice) for the amazing and speedy beta!

You’re wandering around a local bazaar in a small village outside Casablanca when you see it. It’s nothing special at first glance, just an orange fabric in a pile of other bright or obnoxious colours. But upon closer inspection, it comes alive—a shimmer of red and gold, and when you reach out and run your fingers over it, the silkiness sends shivers up your spine. 

The stand owner is all too happy to let you buy the entire bolt, even going so far as to recommend another: a putrid chartreuse pattern that makes you see spots so you politely shake your head and look away. 

“No,” you say in your scattered Darija. “This is the one.” 

The journey home is taxing now that you have a greater purpose. Between the sun and sand and flurry of foreign elements, your head is in a haze and your heart is yearning for home. Your heart is yearning for _her._

When you Portkey into Paris, the city is alive and reaches out to embrace you. It started to feel like home not too long after you moved in with Luna, and the familiar smells and sounds and sights give you a warm sense of comfort and belonging. Paris is so much of who you are, and Paris holds so much of what you love. 

Before her, it was style and substance and the shadows of history that fell on every inch of space. The city holds the arts and culture and cuisine to satiate your needs for _things._ Its history and revolutionary thoughts seem to push all your buttons and engage your intellect and imagination. But beneath the beauty and the lights and the romance, those storied city streets contain every version of the blood and the tragedy that mare your own twisted soul.

You stop for a drink and check the time, counting down the minutes until you know she’ll be home from the studio. It’s an eternity in a martini glass, and you wash the rest of it down your throat and make your way back to the flat. 

Opening the door, you’re hit with the scent of rose and jasmine and suddenly the need to bury your face in tangled, messy blonde curls overwhelms you. You throw down your luggage and throw yourself onto your bed, rolling around until your nose nestles into the dip of a pillow. 

_It’s her._

Rose and jasmine and the dusty, lingering scent of fabrics. You clutch the pillow and smother yourself with it. It’s all you can do to rid your senses of the warm and welcoming Moroccan spices that only days before were tantalising delights. 

You lie there until you hear a key turn in the lock, and then you’re up. She’s at the door, wearing the Isabel Morant Cescott dress you bought her before you left. The dress looks even better on her than you thought it would, accentuating her shoulders and the lovely curve of her hips. 

“You’re home early,” Luna smiles and holds out her hand. You take it and crowd your body against hers. “I couldn’t stay away.” 

She wraps her arms around your neck and nuzzles the line of your jaw before her lips press against yours. Her hands cradle the back of your neck, and she pulls you in for a deeper kiss, her lips insistent, no longer welcoming but demanding. Her body moulds itself to yours and the feel of her form against yours is a shockwave of warmth and then quickly turns to need. 

You need her skin on your skin like you need breath in your lungs and fumble with the dress until you unzip and push it off of her shoulders. The busy fabric falls over her tanned, perfect skin and you run your fingers down her sides clearing the path until it bunches up at the silver belt around her waist. It doesn’t matter though because you have skin to touch and kiss and every inch is better than you remember. 

You trace the bony curves of her shoulders as you lower your head to the base of her throat. Her rose perfume envelopes you, and the only thing that stops you from leaving a mark is the sweet temptation of her exposed breasts. Luna’s hands are still threaded in the hair at the base of your neck as you kiss down the middle of her chest. When you turn your head and nuzzle the mound of a breast and slowly tongue at the nipple, she arches into you and shudders, a quiet moan escaping her lips. 

You breathe in the mix of perfume and sweat and latch onto her. 

“Pansy,” she moans and holds your head in place. You suck and tongue at her and smile into her flesh as her hips start to move against you. “Pansy,” she moans again and your hands can feel the muscles in her body tensing and clenching and pulsing with desire. 

When you move your attention to her other breast, you drop your hand under the bottom of the dress and start to pull her panties down. Once they are down around her feet, you can smell the sweet, heady scent of her arousal and it takes every ounce of control for you to keep tonguing her nipple instead of falling to your knees. 

Luna’s moans grow louder as you play with her nipples until she finally pulls you back up and kisses you, breathy and fierce, her mouth becoming the only thing you think you need to survive. She swipes her tongue against your lips and demands even more from you, and you open up to her without pause, as if you could ever deny her anything anyway. 

She bites your lower lip and breaks the kiss, grasping your hand and nuzzling your neck. “Shall we take this to the bedroom?” 

You’d let her take you anywhere, but you just nod and let her lead you. 

When you reach the bed, she turns to face you and you can’t stop yourself from pushing her to sit. The overwhelming desire to be buried in her and lost in her entirety overcomes you and you can’t stop yourself from running your fingertips up and down the exposed skin of her legs until her eyes flutter closed. 

“Lie back,” you say and she does. She lies atop the light linen comforter, her tanned skin glowing and her eyes bright and wide staring up at you. It’s almost enough just to stare down at her, just to take her in and get lost in the depths of what those blue eyes contain; you can see your past in the shadows, the lust of the present in highlights, and the strands of all-encompassing love in the spaces in between. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” you say as you move your fingers to her thighs and press them apart. When you settle down in the space between her legs it’s like a thousand dreams come true when she opens up for you. The sweet scent of her fills your lungs and her folds are flush and wet and ready. 

When you put your mouth on her it’s exquisite and electric and the breathy sounds coming from her lips and the uneven undulations of her hips fuel the spark inside you. All you want in that moment is for her desire to be realised, for her being to ascend to the highest peaks, for your love to permeate from your heart to hers—to make your love stretch across her mind, body and soul. 

She clutches at your hands as you hold her hips down and writhes under the pressure, her body a tense and frantic mess beneath you. Once you start using your fingers inside of her, Luna’s breathing turns erratic, taken over by short, breathy moans that escalate and disappear in a silent scream as she rocks forward and comes.

Her warmth envelops you, her thighs try desperately to close around you and chase the fleeting feeling of heaven on earth. You raise your mouth and leave a trail of kisses down the inner slope of her thigh until she stills and cards her fingers through your hair. 

“I hate when you go away,” she says, “but I do very much love when you return.”

It’s minutes of slow kisses and roaming hands before she has you on your knees, naked, her hands prying back your arse cheeks and her tongue pressing into you in lazy, teasing strokes. You ache for her in every possible way, the need inside you building for touch, for tongue, for fullness and fucking and _more more more._

“Merlin, Luna,” you pant, and she swipes her tongue down your untouched clit. “Bloody hell, I need _more!_ ” 

When she pulls away, your body tries to follow the touch, but she returns in a heartbeat and presses something into you. 

“ _Yes,_ ” you moan and you know it’s the strap on from the nightstand and you know you won’t last long. She’s pressing into you with tentative thrusts, and you can’t take the slow slide against your core. You need it hard and fast this time; you need her to fuck away the days and hours and minutes that you were apart until there’s nothing left between you but the sweat and the sex on your skin. 

As if she knew already, her pace increases and you clutch the linen beneath you. 

“You’ve been so far away,” she breathes. She threads an arm under you and pulls you upright and the feel of her breasts against your back makes you moan. “So very far away,” she says in your ear. “But now you’re close, aren’t you?” She kisses your neck. “So very close.” 

The short, hard thrusts from her hips are hitting you in all the right spots and when she embraces you harder, her hands roaming over you, squeezing your breasts, and the shock of it sends you over the edge. You’re in her arms, falling, and she’s catching you over and over again as you fall. It’s only you and her and the pounding of your hearts as she leads you back to solid ground. 

“Pansy,” she whispers as you both lie on your backs in a tangle of limbs, and your name so sweet on her lips is the only word you need. 

You blink and say, “I love you.” 

Her eyes flutter and she traces a finger over your cheek. “Morocco left some freckles behind.”

“One for every time I missed you.” 

You melt into her as she tells you of all the things you missed while away, and the sound of her voice soothes and sways you to sleep. It’s early the next morning when you start to settle back in that you remember the gift. 

She’s standing over the stovetop naked when you say, “Luna, I have a project for you.” 

She hums and continues reading _The Quibbler_ as she scrambles some eggs. 

You hold up the bolt of orange fabric, eager to see her reaction to such a glorious find. 

“Oh my,” she turns her head. “Pansy, that’s beautiful.” 

“It made me think of you,” you smile and admire the gorgeous balance of colours. You trace your fingers over the silky texture and lean forward, nervously admitting, “I want this on my body—pressed against my skin.” You bite your lip and glance at the floor. “I want you to use this for one of your designs.”

Luna stares at you, her eyes wide and calculating. 

You tentatively add, “For me.” 

“Of course,” she smiles wide. “It would be my pleasure to dress you.” 

You smirk and raise an eyebrow. Luna lifts her chin, the unmistakable glimmer of something wild and wonderful in her eyes. 

“Every stitch and every seam will be made with my love,” she whispers, trailing a kiss down your neck. “You’ll know when it fits you like a glove how much I love you, how much I know every part of you.”

Your breathing staggers and you can’t stop your hands from reaching up and cradling her head to you. “Any chance for a—” you gasp as she starts sucking on your neck, “rush delivery?”

“For you,” she says against your hot skin, her fingers searching out and pressing into the deepest parts of you. “I think I may take my sweet, delicate time.” 


End file.
